


Semaforo

by Loria_in_eternity



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Anxiety, Cruel abuse of dashes and italics, Executive Dysfunction, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Panic Attacks, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loria_in_eternity/pseuds/Loria_in_eternity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tsuna has a twin sister, Sawada Kimiko; academically talented, socially stunted, and possessed of an eccentric sense of humour. They get on well with each other, if no-one else, and everything is--if not exactly perfect--fine. </p>
<p>Until Kimiko starts having strange dreams, dreams of things that never happened... at least, not in her lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and a girl was born;

**Author's Note:**

> I have succumbed to the temptation of this silly trope, and so you all get to read the fruits of my labour. I am trying to avoid the typical pitfalls of ordinary SI or twinfic, so let's hope that works out! I haven't finished writing this, but I'm posting this in the hope it will motivate me to do so. So... in that vein... feedback would be much appreciated. Do keep in mind, though, that this isn't exactly a literary masterpiece. It's just for fun!

_Kimiko fumbled with her phone as she turned the corner, checking the time- four fifty-five, shit, shit! She picked up her pace, hurrying down the hill towards the bus station._

_There was no way she’d make it! What kind of idiot was she? How many times had this happened?! By now, you’d think she’d know better than to get distracted by work at the end of the day!_

_Reaching the crossing, she muffled a growl in her throat, scanning the unremitting stream of traffic. She hammered the call button, but the light didn’t show any sign of changing._

_She’d promised she wouldn’t do this again. The situation wasn’t unsalvageable, but she wouldn’t be able to hide that it’d happened- the train wasn’t till quarter to six, and it only took her half-way home! Dad would be so disappointed if he had to pick her up from the station, and she just couldn’t **face** another conversation about her mother- about organisation and responsibility and where she should be taking her cues from in regards to that- which in the circumstances… looked likely. _

_A gap in traffic! She darted onto the road– her pulse leapt. She glanced to her lef-_

Waking, heart hammering, Kimiko opened her eyes. Her head throbbed as she sat up slowly, peeling her blanket off of sweat-soaked limbs. As usual, she both felt as if she had never slept and as though she’d just awoken from a coma, and more than anything she just wanted to lay back down and sleep properly: not that she would. It’d been months since she’d slept a whole night untroubled.

Gathering up her clothes, she padded unsteadily into the hall. As she passed the stairway, she called down, “Mum! I’m having a shower!”

Doodling absently on the shower screen, watching as each character or shape faded into white, she let her mind wander back to her earlier dream. It had made as little sense as ever, although of course it hadn’t seemed that way while sleeping. Not for the first time, she tried to understand: if they’d been nightmares, that would be one thing; would explain, for example, why they never seemed to rest her body in the least.

They weren’t nightmares.

If anything, they were more like… memories. But not hers, not _her_ \- she would never spare a thought for what her Dad might think of her, obviously! If he wanted an opinion on her life he should be in it. In fact, she had a pleasant recurring daydream of him turning up to bully Tsuna, and her dishing out a _cutting_ verbal smack-down- and a smack!

Although… she did feel a little ashamed of the egocentricity: Tsuna might not appreciate her talking over him; who was she to say Dad was mistreating him? Defending people never worked out the way you expected it to, especially when you were mainly doing it for the ego boost!

She rolled her eyes. There was, she reflected, such a thing as _too much_ self-examination.

Focus turning outward again, Kimiko noticed, in her usual detached manner, that she’d written her name in the condensation; the soft, straight lines were a stark contrast to her usual messy handwriting. She drew her palm across it, erasing all traces, then sighed, and reached up to turn off the shower.

* * *

 

School was as dull as ever, and Kimiko was no less tired. Thank goodness it was all so easy; honestly, she could do the work in her sleep. Which was convenient, as she could hardly manage to keep her eyes open.

The hardest subject was Japanese, and that wasn’t too hard. English, Science, Maths- they were all so simple! Unfortunately, that wasn’t an _objective_ analysis- and Tsuna begged to differ.

“Kimiko, hey! Are you listening? Don’t fall asleep!” He poked her, and she lifted her head off her folded arms, yawning.

“Mm?” she inquired eloquently. He scowled at her, and she grinned lazily back; man, what a cute twin brother! She was so lucky.

“C’mon, Tsuna-chi! What is it?”

“Kimiko, help me! I don’t understand anything about fractions!” _What, really? How could he not?_

“Oh, was that what we were doing?”

“ _You weren’t listening?!_ What am I going to _do?!_ I’ll fail the test tomorrow and everyone will hate me!”

 _Tsuna,_ Kimiko thought sadly, _I don’t think one test is going to make a dent in their attitudes, but I admire your optimism._

All she said was, “Oh, there was a test tomorrow?”

“Do you _ever listen?_ How does someone like you get top marks! It’s not fair!” He sort of looked like he was going to cry. _Okay, that’s enough teasing._

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a forehead kiss. “Tsu-rin, ye of little faith! Of course your big sister can help you! I may not listen in class, but I know everything- I don’t need to!”

“We’re twins! And it’s _Tsuna!_ ”

* * *

 

The dappled shadow cast by the playground beech tree made good shade in the summer, since Kimiko was not exactly enthusiastic to take part in any games. Running, chasing, playing ‘mummies and daddies’: what a drag. She didn’t have any more interest in the other kids than they did in her, and that was in everybody’s best interest.

She had brought a book outside with her, and was sprawled comfortably on the ground, leaning against the cool flank of the tree-trunk. Her hair fluttered in the slight breeze, not quite long enough to obscure her vision.

A scuff of feet in the dust; she looked up, and saw her brother silhouetted by the gently swaying canopy above. He looked dejected, and she found she didn’t need to ask what had driven him to join her in self-imposed exile.

“Tsuna, are you okay?” she asked, straightening up from her casual sprawl. Reaching for his hand, she pulled him down to sit beside her. She set down her book, marking the page with a leaf- hastily salvaged- and he settled his shoulder against her.

“They say I can’t play,” Tsuna replied hoarsely, “because it’s dodgeball. And I’ll ruin it, and make them lose.”

Kimiko huffed. “What’s the point of playing together if you’re excluding people? It isn’t _important_ who wins. Those idiots are too competitive.” She hesitated, then turned to face him and wrapped her arms around him. He was intoxicatingly warm, but any pleasure she took from the tactile comfort was dampened by his palpable misery. Her hand carded through his tangle of hair; his thin shoulders shook; he sobbed wetly. “Shh,” she whispered, “it’s nonsense. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He pulled back, wiping his eyes. “They’re right, though! I would make them lose.”

“And so would I! I’m no better at sport than you, but it doesn’t _matter._ Only idiots care about it!”

“ _I’m_ an idiot!” Tsuna shouted. He looked away. “Kimiko- it doesn’t matter that you can’t do sport because you’re smart. And you don’t want to play with the others, so it doesn’t matter that they don’t want to play with you. But…but _I_ do! And I’m _not_ smart. I’m useless!”

Kimiko stared at him, breath caught in her throat. She wanted to –apologise, but, no; that would be agreeing, and she knew he wasn’t right. Besides, she couldn’t begin to think _how_ to articulate an apology… _I’m sorry for being smart_? _I’m sorry you’re …useless_? No! _No,_ he wasn’t _‘useless’_ , he was her brother! She loved him!

 _That isn’t enough, though,_ she thought. _That has nothing to do with this. I don’t love him because he’s –somehow special, or different from all the other people in the world, no matter whether it feels like it. He’s unique, and so are they. He doesn’t have any exceptional qualities, because nobody does. We’re all just people._

_I love him because he’s mine. My brother. I love him because I know him and I like him and he’s **mine.**_

But that wasn’t enough.

“Tsuna…” she said, quietly, unsure, “you don’t _need_ to be good at anything. You aren’t… worth something, because you’re useful. It doesn’t _matter_ if you’re useful! Or it _shouldn’t,_ anyway.”

“It does, though,” Tsuna snapped. “I mean- it _does_ matter! The teachers hate me, and everyone hates me, and it’s because I’m no good.”

Kimiko’s drawn expression split with a nervous grin. “Hey, they’re _children._ They don’t hate you! They have no _idea_ what it means to hate, and they don’t know the first thing about you.”

“Look,” she continued, hand on his cheek. Gently, she turned his face towards her, “ _look,_ hey, hate is a really, really strong feeling. It means you want to _hurt_ someone, or you want them to die. Do you think those kids want you to die? Do you think if you were in pain, being –tortured, in front of them, they’d enjoy that?”

Tsuna looked away, biting his lip. “Yeah – well, no. I don’t...”

“Well, _I_ know,” Kimiko stated, confident. She grinned wryly. “I know everything, remember? They wouldn’t. They’d be scared. And maybe they’d run or maybe they’d try to help you, I don’t know. But either way they don’t hate you.”

Tsuna was beginning to lean away from her. His mouth was set in a dour curve, and he wasn’t meeting her eyes.

She didn’t know what to do: what to say; how to explain what she saw, now, and in her quiet, contemplative moments. The world, and the shape of it, and the peace that you could find in the reassuring embrace of nihilism.

She couldn’t think how to _show_ him that he mattered- not because he _did,_ objectively, but because she chose to believe that he mattered. That he deserved to be loved, to be liked, to be _alive-_ not because there was such a thing as deserving, but because you could choose to live in a world where _people_ mattered.

She didn’t know how to tell him that everyone was wrong; that their teachers, their classmates, were wrong; because they all seemed to think that being useful, fitting in, that they were so _important_ , and that was _how it should be._ But it shouldn’t.

How could she expect him to believe her word over—everyone? When they were so much louder?

But she had to say something.

“Look- I said, remember? A couple minutes ago, yeah, you remember, haha, I said –they don’t know the first thing about you. What do they have to hate? What they can see, which is _nothing,” -_ her hand on his cheek, again, a caress- “ _I_ see you. I know you as well as anyone can; I’m your twin. _I know you._ ” She paused for emphasis, waiting for him to look at her; grinned tenderly. “-and I _love_ you.”

Her desperate, bright smile finally elicited a watery mirror. They were eye-to-eye, soft brown meeting its brighter counterpart, and it took little more effort to gently touch her forehead to his, eyes closing. Her thumb brushed his cheekbone and Tsuna’s arms tightened across her back. In unison, they sighed, and Kimiko huffed a quiet laugh.

They drew apart, after a few moments. “You okay?” she asked, concerned still, and he smiled tremulously.

“Yeah, I’m –okay.”

* * *

 

As soon as she opened her eyes, Kimiko knew it was gonna be one of _those_ days. Her head felt like it was filled with static, and her bones were leaden. She tried to work up the motivation to move, and couldn’t. Didn’t _want_ to- and the part of her that knew she had to seemed to have been cut off from control.

Her chest ached, and she screwed up her eyes in frustration- the thought of going back to sleep filled her with reckless anxiety. _Useless, stupid, lazy idiot! Get up, you have to go- you can’t fail! This is all you’re good for and you can’t even be bothered!_ But she didn’t want to, she couldn’t- she couldn’t-

 _It’s just school, it’s easy, you can do this,_ she tried. _Come on, get up! Please!_

The alarm was beeping, digital interface flickering forward inevitably. She couldn’t stand it. Closer and closer to the cut-off point; she just wanted it to be there already, too late to leave, so that the panic would abate and the guilt would take front and centre. When she didn’t turn up, would they sigh, assume she was skipping, and gossip? When she went in tomorrow there’d be the jokes, the teacher would sigh, everyone would _look_ at her- she could already see it. She had to go!

 _No, no, no-_ she made it to the closet, but the thought of picking clothes was too _much-_ the tightness in her chest overwhelmed her. She’d cope with the whispers- it would be fine, she just- couldn’t go! She’d tell them she was sick, and they wouldn’t believe her- but she didn’t really deserve to be believed. She deserved it all, the stares, the shame- the jokes that she knew weren’t meant in cruelty, that she took too hard. She was just oversensitive.

She squeaked in shock at the knock on her door, and waited a couple of seconds silently in self-destructive impulsivity. Maybe they’d go away, give up on her, maybe- she’d just disappear, right now, and never have to deal with this again-

“Kimiko?” called Nana, “are you alright? You’re late up!”

“I- I don’t f-fuh-feel t-too good, Mum…” she whispered, her throat sharp with guilt. _Liar._ Well, she did feel terrible- tired, afraid, guilty- but that was her fault and no excuse at all. “Can I please s-st-st-stay home today? I’m sorry…”

And the stupid stutter came out, too! Fishing for sympathy, trying to sound sick; what an awful, stupid child. She heard a sigh from the other side of the door. _Sorry, sorry, sorry-_ what parent wouldn’t be sick of this, obviously? Nana was worried for her, annoyed by her, sick of her playing this stupid game!

_If you hate this so much, stop; go to school like a normal person. If you’re going to indulge your laziness then stop wallowing in misery about it. You’re doing this to yourself. You can stop._

“Okay, Kimiko. I’ll come and check on you later. Go back to bed, okay?”

Nana hadn’t even checked for a fever.

_That’s because she knows you’re lying. She’s just not going to force you to go. You **got** what you wanted- aren’t you happy?_

_No. I wish she had._

* * *

 

_Kimiko was staring out of the window of a van, watching green-grey countryside skim by. The radio was on, and she recognised the singer- unusual. She didn’t pay that much attention to music. Her brother reached out to turn it up, and she gave him a quelling look._

_“Honestly, lil’ man, just cause you have hearing damage doesn’t mean we all want it.” He ignored her and she swatted his hand away from the volume. “It’s loud already.”_

_He ignored her again, and she pursed her lips. Before she could speak, however, the sound cut off- Dad._

_“Hey!” her brother cried, high pitched and grating; she shushed him. Though, it was a bit annoying, as she’d been enjoying the music too. That was Dad for you._

_They sat in sulky silence for a bit, but before long her brother perked up. “Guess what this is!” he said, gesturing to a white-paper parcel in his hand. Small, round, and flat; who knew._

_“What is it?” she asked, smiling, but he pouted._

_“You have to **guess**_ ,” _he said, tone one she considered more appropriate for speaking to a child than a venerable elder such as herself._

_“Can’t you smell cinnamon?” asked Dad. No, she couldn’t- but obviously he could._

_“Is it a cinnamon roll?” she asked, amusedly._

_“Yes! A cinnamon twist. I’m going to give it to the one I love,” he announced. Sounded like he had a crush, but it was probably just his awkward phrasing again. Cute kid._

_“Who’s that?” Dad asked. Her brother pointed at Kimiko with a little smile. Yes! Favourite big sister! At least until she pissed him off._

_“Awww, I love you too, little man!”_

_“Kimiko…” she heard, quietly. She looked around, and suddenly it seemed like the scene was two dimensional. She looked_

-at her Dad. But it wasn’t her Dad. But… it was? _Who…?_

“Kimiko!”

“Ah!” Tsuna was waving his hand in front of her face.

He sighed at her confused expression. “Finally! You were really out of it, Kimiko! What’s with all this daydreaming? Were you _asleep_?”

She looked around again, this time seeing the kitchen. She’d been staring out the window. How… had she gotten here, again? What had she been doing? It all seemed so far away. She felt panic rising, but didn’t let it. _I was doing something, probably, and fell asleep. I’m confused- it’s just a dream- don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._

“Ahaha, sorry! You know me, Tsuna, always sleeping. So, what did you want?” She grinned up at him, focusing her attention firmly on his face, despite a tugging, underlying nausea.

“Oh, uh, nothing! Just… wondering… if you’d done our Japanese homework?”

Oh yeah. Japanese _._ It was fun, definitely, ‘cause nothing else she did was a challenge at all, but that did mean it was harder. Harder to do, a little, but not much; harder to make herself do: definitely.

“We can do it together, ‘kay?” Kimiko asked, in the hope that it would motivate her even slightly.

It wasn’t hard, really. Wasn’t even _harder_ than the others- no, the difference lay in that it was the only subject that she didn’t feel like she already, intuitively, understood.


	2. and the girl slept;

_A great sea stretched out as far as could be perceived, landless, except for the half-formed idea of cliffs flickering in and out of existence. Waves crashed and swirled at illogical angles, because this was not a place where logic held sway._

_This place was of emotion._

_She dove, but was pulled upward towards the surface again and again as if the very ocean was afraid that she would drown._

_She could not drown. She dove._

_The ocean might have been deep blue, or green, but she didn’t see any colour not faded and near-grey. The deeper she got, the lesser the pull of the surface, until eventually she felt the tug fade; all that was left was the water, miles and miles of it. Finally, she almost felt secure._

_She didn’t have a name here, and never had. She didn’t have a face, though there was an impression of long hair, which she had not had for a long time. She knew who she was, because the very core of her was and had always been the same, but she knew nothing else._

_If she could have stayed here forever then she would have, but it was more fragile than it appeared, this world. Because it was her, and she’d never had a very strong ‘self’._

_The bottom approached; vast twisting spires and swirls of stone, alone in the ocean: no fish. No plants. They didn’t suit her. A geologist would struggle to identify the rock, because it wasn’t rock- it was a concept. A dream, at right angles from reality._

_There was pressure, now, and she could sense something- approaching- rushing towards her. Her chest flickered into feeling in time to tighten apprehensively, and something washed over her. A current- an underwater storm._

_Her mind was suddenly ripped from its stupor, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw a light-_

_she turned. Her feet were resting on solid ground, her heart awakened to pounding, she felt the rush of air as the car-_

_i m p a c t e d._

_The world blinked out._

* * *

 

The first time her Dad left, Kimiko was three years old. She knows this because she has asked her Mum; she does not remember. Tsuna doesn’t either. Apparently, it was a short trip, and only took a few months.

She never believed his stories about his job, but she used to think that he didn’t mean for her to. That they were a joke, and it was one they were both in on. A year ago, aged six, she realised he thought he was lying to her.

She doesn’t believe that he’s dead, and she’s made sure that Tsuna doesn’t either. It’s just another lie, albeit a rather cruel one. She doesn’t blame Mum for telling them it, either; she’s just doing what she’s told. That’s something that Kimiko doesn’t like, but can definitely understand. Mum loves Dad more than she cares about her kids knowing the truth- that’s fine: it’s not _that_ different from Santa Claus.

Kimiko isn’t angry with Dad. She understands that he has a job, and that he lies about it; she understands that he is busy; she knows he provides for them. She knows that he does not understand her, or Tsuna, and would only hurt Tsuna if he was around. She thinks it’s for the best he’s gone. She hopes he never comes back.

Being angry would not bring him back, or make him a good father, or make him tell them the truth. It wouldn’t make him care. It’s completely illogical to be angry, so she _isn’t_ angry.

(Neither is she hurt.)

* * *

 

The light was green, and all the cars had stopped at either side of the crossing. They weren’t moving, and they weren’t going to, and it was perfectly safe. Tsuna was tugging on her hand, and his mouth was moving, but all she could hear was noise- the noise of the car engines, the calls of birds, Tsuna’s voice, concerned- afraid.

It was too much, too loud, and the empty street was too big- they were staring at her, all of them, she could _feel them_. The step off pavement to road felt like the drop into a deep ravine, and Kimiko could no more cross it than she could fly.

Her mouth was open as she gasped, her breath stuttering like sobs, and she wanted to say something- to explain- but her throat was a vice and all she could manage was a hissing sob. _I can’t- I can’t-_ was all she could think, the rest of her brain incoherent with panic.

She blacked out for a second, and when she came to the light was red and someone had their arms around her. For a second, the physical contact was too much, but then she relaxed into the embrace- tightening her arms around them as if she thought she might be ripped away.

By the time she could understand words, Tsuna wasn’t talking, just making gentle, desperate noises of comfort. He was probably- really scared. She- should reassure him.

_Tsuna, I’m okay. Tsuna, I’m okay. Tsuna, I’m –I’m okay._ The words wouldn’t come out, however many times she repeated them in her head.

Kimiko closed her eyes, and saw the car half a metre away. Saw that it wouldn’t stop in time.

She was so sick of being _scared._ Of feeling so _much._

She was so tired. She just- wanted to be _okay._

“Tsuna-”she forced out, “please… don’t tell-” he was crying too, she realised. His face was starkly terrified and he was sobbing thickly, and he nodded.

* * *

 

They found a public toilet to clean up in, and not wanting to be separated both entered the men’s bathroom. Kimiko could pass for a boy if you didn’t look too closely; her hair was short. They washed their faces in cold water, still halfway crying- still afraid.

“What- what was that?” Tsuna asked desperately, wildly gesturing. “Are you sick? What’s wrong?”

Kimiko looked at him nervously. _I don’t know- I don’t know! Something’s wrong with me, but I don’t…_ “I- I’m fine.”

His eyes widened, face tear-streaked, blotchy red. “You’re _not_ fine, Kimiko,” he said desolately, “you were screaming! There was nothing- nothing wrong, then suddenly you were _screaming.”_

She hadn’t realised she was making any noise at all. “Tsuna, I—don’t know, I _don’t know what happened."_

“I’ve been having these—dreams," she confessed, at last. "Not just at night. Not just lately. But they’ve gotten worse recently.”

“Dreams?” he asked slowly.

“Of- just, ordinary things, mostly. But lately I’ve been dreaming of- a car. A car accident.”

“...Just watching one?” he asked, but she could see that he knew the answer already.

“No. Not just—watching.” Her head was throbbing, “being-” a stab of pain. She hissed, “-in one.”

“Kimiko!” Tsuna shouted, but she could barely hear him over the crash of waves in her ears. She lost her balance as the current tore over her, feeling the feather light touch of arms around her as if from very far away.

A pop, like a bubble bursting, and she felt no more.

* * *

 

Adrift in dreams, she found herself slowly regaining lucidity. Scenes came and went in flashes, some brighter than others, some fading immediately from memory. They felt like they were being burnt into her mind.

Her skin felt molten, and tears, when they came, burnt painfully. She was so _hot-_ and yet, at the core of her, she was horribly, painfully cold.

_I must be dying_ , she thought. _This must be what dying feels like. That’s strange. I feel like… it was a lot faster last time._

_My name is Kimiko. I’m seven years old. I have a twin brother named Tsunayoshi,_ she repeated to herself. Was that true?

It felt like the truth. But it also felt mistaken.

_My name is…________. I am sixteen years old. I have two little sisters and a little brother._

What were their names? What was… her name? _Kimiko? No._

A memory washed over her, gentle, almost. _She was crying, kneeling on a mattress, holding her closest friend in the world for what felt like the last time..._ And then _she was sat at a bench, peering over the spine of a book to watch a game she was too shy to join… She was nervous, trying to suppress it; the sharp curl of pain as she bit into her hand, relishing the feeling, admiring the collection of crisp pink marks…_

_She was catching a woodlouse in two acorn shells; building houses out of pebbles; darting across the field of cows she thought might be bulls, a friend at her side, stick in her hand like a weapon, safe without the knowledge that she wouldn’t be allowed out alone with this particular companion for a year after… She was kissing a girl, shyly, on her porch, enjoying the strange and gentle closeness but not really feeling any fireworks…_

_She was sat on a chair in the foyer, hand lingering on the portfolio leaning against her leg, posture perfect… She was sat in the college library, books on Cubism, De Stijl and Dadaism spread out around her, taking notes and rough drawings in her sketchbook…_

_She was… She was…_ detached, filing the experiences away in some place she could not precisely reach. She’d done this… before. She’d _lived_ this, before.

But how? _Reincarnation?_

But that meant… she’d died. _Sixteen years old._ And she’d died.

The physical pain was overwhelming, her body aching and throbbing and burning up- but she realised the reason she was crying wasn’t that. She’d _died._

Her life was over. She’d never be an artist, not _her;_ she’d never make her parents proud. She’d left them all behind. Their lives would be… _oh, oh, what have I done? I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I love you, I love all of you so much…!_

So many things that she would never do. Even if she lived again, now, it wouldn’t be the same. Her life had been real, and it was _lost._

_I didn’t want this!_

More memories. One by one, beyond any sense of time- not sixteen years, not a second, sometime in between. She could tell she was reaching the end of the film-reel, approaching the last; the end of everything she’d been. She railed out against it. If this was the closest she could come to her family – if this was the only way she could keep them with her – let her stay!

And then she was on the hill, again, the hill she’d walked down every day from college to the bus station. Her feet weren’t moving- she didn’t _have_ feet. It wasn’t real, she wasn’t there, but she _was_ remembering.

She fixed what she could of that moment in her memory- her last. Alive, well, worrying, like always. Her eyes weren’t open, so she couldn’t close them. Couldn’t look away.

_Don’t!_ she thought, as her past self approached the crossing. _Look around!_ she begged silently, _Live! Live!_

That girl- whose name she still didn’t know- didn’t look around; it was just a memory, after all. It had already happened. She was already dead. The echo of empty shock and fear flooded her limbs, and with a gasp she _died._

With a gasp, she woke.


End file.
